


The Statesman and the Lieutenant

by GermanShepherd



Category: To the Ends of the Earth - All Media Types
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Pining, Unrequited Love, Unspoken Love, sweet fluff as in fairy floss
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-14
Updated: 2013-05-14
Packaged: 2017-12-11 20:44:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/803105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GermanShepherd/pseuds/GermanShepherd
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Edmund and Charles introspectively examine their friendship and their feelings for each other in a few sweet scenes, set during their journey on that ill-fated man-o-war. Charles does what he can to spend time with Edmund and Edmund appreciates the attention.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Statesman and the Lieutenant

**Author's Note:**

> Inspiration and characters from William Golding's "To the Ends of the Earth" trilogy and the BBC rendition thereof. One scene and its quotes from the TV mini-series.
> 
> I just...I love this bromance/romance so much. And Summers. I love Summers. I hope this fic fills some of the gaping Summers/Talbot void.

It was a long, sleepless night for Edmund. Only during his waking hours could he escape the grasp of his hallucinations – rather, his victims. Fatigue weighed heavily in the back of his mind, and his thoughts were thick fog, but tonight was not a night that he would risk encountering his ghosts just for the sake of some small amount of rest. He pulled his blanket tighter around his shoulders and curled up as much as he could in the narrow cot. 

When he had been parted from Marion by cruel, cruel chance, he had wielded his visions of her as a weapon against the ghosts. She had helped him, for a time, but as much as he tried to remember her, the memory faded, like the vast sea slipping through his fingers. Now all he clung to was a memory of a memory – and it was not strong enough to keep him from his abyss.

He closed his eyes to avoid seeing the familiar wall of his cabin. He heard his door open, slowly, and then close. Another vision? Had he fallen asleep without knowing it?

But no feeling of terror gripped him. Whatever it was that had opened the door simply stood there and made no noise. The silence went on for so long that Edmund thought the ghost had dissipated, but then he heard a footstep, and another footstep. The sound was strangely familiar to him, and in his mind he pieced together his memories of that footstep. Eventually he imagined the man those steps belonged to, and he recognized the weight of the movements. His visitor was no apparition, and Edmund was not asleep.

Even turned towards the wall as he was, he knew that Lt. Summers had knelt by the side of his cot. Edmund considered making some movement or noise to signify that he was awake and aware, but as soon as he thought it, he noticed that the rope-tight weight around his chest had eased and his breathing had calmed. The presence of the first lieutenant was more powerful than even Marion against Edmund’s fears. So he stayed still and said nothing, slowly easing his way into unconsciousness as he listened hard for Summers’ steady, quiet breaths. The man was a lullaby in all his gentle, unobtrusive presence.

When Edmund woke in the morning, Summers – what was his first name? – was gone and there was no sign of his visit. He spent the next days constantly wondering if it had really happened, or if it was simply a self-made vision of comfort – and if so, why should he have imagined Mr. Summers of all people? But over the next nights, he slept well and deeply, and any reservations he had disappeared.

The hallucinations began to return to him. His hours of rest dwindled into nothing.

As he lay one night staring at the ceiling, he heard his door open, slowly, and then close. A wave of relief came over him – strangely, he thought – and he found himself listening eagerly for the sound of footsteps. They came, and then the quiet shuffle of fabric as Summers knelt again beside the bunk. Again Edmund felt his fear subside. He thought of the Mr. Summers that he knew, the diplomatic, considerate officer who always had time for Edmund’s questions or worries. But here, the man was not simply being professional – how could he know that Edmund was aware of his presence? Edmund quieted the questions in his mind and appreciated the companionship of a friend in the otherwise friendless night.

 

The noise of hammering and yelling had woken him up, and he had hurried towards its source, fully knowing and fearing what was going on.

When Charles (at last, the man’s first name) had explained Benét’s plan, it had sounded mad, but as Edmund caught sight of the procedure, his stomach dropped in fear at the plain rashness of it. He looked at Benét’s eager face; Anderson’s, apprehensive and regarding, and Charles’, sheer dread and plain dissatisfaction barely disguised. “Back, Mr. Talbot!” the lieutenant barked at Edmund, with distress in his eyes at the man’s proximity to the flames.

The water splashed onto the base of the mast and the most bone-chilling creaking Edmund had ever heard filled the air. The hammering subsided at a command from the captain, and they all listened to the ship hiss and groan. Painful, frightening seconds passed, and then the crack in the shoe shrank and pulled itself together unnaturally.

“Sir, I fear that it – “ Charles began, but he was silenced. Edmund watched the burning orange circles in the dark wood. He was no seaman, but he felt certain that fire struck into the very heart of the ship was no good thing. The steam issuing from the crack ceased, and only a thin line was visible in the wood. Benét sighed with relief and pride.

Captain Anderson congratulated him, wrongly, Edmund felt. He saw the look of disbelief and doubt on Charles’ face and it made him squirm. Lt. Summers was, honestly, the only seaman whose expertise he really trusted on this ship, and if he doubted the reliability of the experiment, then so did Edmund.

“Mr. Summers,” commanded Anderson, “come with me.”

Edmund saw Charles’ apprehension – almost felt it himself – and they both knew that Anderson would admonish his first lieutenant. Wrongly, again. Charles slipped from where he was perched, and slid splashing into the water around their feet with an exclamation. Edmund wanted to help him up but knew that the man’s pride was hurt enough already. 

As Charles passed, they shared a momentary look, and Charles reached out and briefly tapped Edmund on the stomach. It was a physical communication that said more than words ever could – as was often the case with Charles – and it meant that they acknowledged each other. Edmund supposed it also said, ‘thank you’. He didn’t like to indulge in thinking what else that warm touch might have meant, so he turned his attention towards Benét, who was grinning at the mast and fondling it with adolescent admiration. Edmund left when the man started composing verse.

 

The door shut noiselessly behind him. The lantern he held aloft cast its light around the cabin – hutch, as Edmund would say – and on the sleeping man in his cot. Charles took a step towards him and stopped. He felt the sacred stillness of sleep in the room, that odd, empty presence when a person is unconscious, and he almost decided not to break it, to simply leave the cabin and forget any thought of disturbing Edmund. But their journey could not last forever and there was something he wanted to show him.

Charles knelt and set the lantern on the floor. He gazed at Edmund’s face, half-turned towards the wall, and regretted again disturbing that peaceful slumber. He considered simply staying there until their watch. No, that wouldn’t do.

“Edmund,” he whispered. He hated the sound of his voice, rough as it was in that smooth, perfect silence, but he savoured the name, sweet on his lips. At last, they had allowed one another their first names. He placed his hand gently on Edmund’s arm just above the wrist. “Edmund,” he whispered again, and Edmund stirred, and turned towards Charles. He started as he opened his eyes seeing someone so close by, then his features relaxed with recognition.

“Charles, it cannot yet be time for our watch?” he asked. His voice was low and groggy with sleep.

“Not yet. I want to show you something. Come up on deck.” He was glad when Edmund did as he asked without question or complaint. The young politician had changed since he had first stepped onto the ship, Charles reflected. He had become...less priggish and proud. Edmund pulled on the most basic clothing and followed the lieutenant above decks.

Charles heard Edmund gasp as the cold night air assaulted his lungs. “We are far south,” he said in answer.

“Good God, it wasn’t so cold when last we were on watch,” Edmund replied, and Charles could almost feel him shiver, though he wasn’t facing him.

“Otherwise we could not see it.”

“See what?” Edmund asked, and he squinted at Charles, who turned, smiled, and looked into the sky. Edmund’s eyes followed his and he forgot to be cold.

“Good God,” he said, in an entirely different tone of voice. The sky was banded with shivering, shimmering arms of green light, high in the vast cold of night. The ribbons shifted, and faded, and came back again, unearthly in their beauty. “What is it?” he asked in a whisper.

“It is the aurora australis,” came the answer, and they both fell silent. After a while, Charles turned to look at his companion, who stood in awe of the great lights. Edmund’s mouth was slightly open in his rapture. His chest rose and fell almost imperceptibly. Breaths clouded faintly from his lips. His head tilted upwards, showing the long, sloping lines of his jaw and the bareness his neck, skin smooth and perfect as marble. The sight was more beautiful than even the bands of light above their heads. For Charles, it was a perfect moment. There was no need to say words that might be misplaced and cause offense, no need for the forced posturing of social interaction, just the simple wonderful fact of their coexistence, side by side in the stillness. A gentle smile lifted the corners of his mouth as he regarded Edmund.

“Does this mean we are getting closer to Australia?”

The smile dissipated from Charles’ face and he looked away over the water.

“Yes,” he said simply. “There are a few more hours until the watch. You should try to get more sleep.”

“No,” replied Edmund, and Charles was surprised at his answer. “I shall dress properly for this cold and stay here until it is time.”

He watched Edmund go below decks. Their journey could not last forever, but at least they had the small hours of the night.

 

The entire ship was glad to see port at Sydney Cove. Whatever the passengers had thought of their voyage, it had been common opinion among the officers that the ship would not be able to survive the journey – but survive she had. Barely. The bright day shone in defiance of their ordeals, and it shone no less bright on Lieutenant Charles Summers as he oversaw the offloading of the passengers.

He remembered how Edmund had asked him, “Are you hurt?” when Captain Anderson had rebuked him for his near-insubordination. There had been real concern in Edmund’s voice, and the question had come tenderly. It was the most unselfish thing Charles had ever heard him say – and the words had been solely for him. But then so had his comment on being unable to speak of philosophical matters with the lieutenant. It was probably true, Charles knew. He found he was able to forgive Edmund for it and other injurious comments previously passed towards him. The proximity of the ship did not allow for grievances to be long held, and in any case, Charles’ nature did not allow for it, especially concerning Edmund. So it was all water under the bridge, or around the hull, as it were.

None of it mattered now. Edmund would take up his post in the colony and Charles would return to England with the hope of being made post captain. It was there that their paths diverged. Maybe Edmund would grow into a great man. Maybe he would find Marion again. It was not for Charles to contemplate.

He watched Edmund descend over the side of the ship and knew that he would never love another man as he loved Edmund then.


End file.
